


Bridge of Golden Wings

by fallingbridges (nineawesomelane)



Category: Fallout 4
Genre: Alternative Perspective, Canon Divergence, Canon-Typical Violence, M/M, Mostly sappy ship stuff tho, This kinda has a plot, deacon gets his time to shine too
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-03-03
Updated: 2016-03-10
Packaged: 2018-05-24 10:55:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,595
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6151305
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nineawesomelane/pseuds/fallingbridges
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Deacon has seen some shit in his life. Not just shit, stuff that would have made people Prewar go mental. So when the vault he’s been staking for years finally pops up with a survivor, there is no way in hell he’s gonna lose them. Even if that person is walking-shit-fest Jeremiah Kaelyn who seems far too excited to be in the wasteland.<br/>Storyline is the same as in canon, just with some tweaks around Deacon, because how did the Sole Survivor not notice him. Seriously. Explicit Rating due to some briefly described sex scenes and more graphic violence then originally intended.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. You Sure You're A City Guard?

**Author's Note:**

> Not sure how far I'm gonna continue this, but I definitely want to get to some prankster Deacon. A man with that high a Perception must put it up to good use at some point.

Jeremiah often admits he’s pretty hard to miss. Standing just over 6’2” with practically black hair that almost falls to his shoulders, he might as well be wearing a sign that says, “SHOOT ME!” But here in the Wasteland, it doesn’t seem to matter. Wearing raider-style armor for lack of better supplies, he kills everything in his way while he meanders from town to town, managing an award-winning smile and calm demeanor to rack up some bullets and more than a few hearts. Not that he cares, they might as well be drifters.

A caravan guard, shaved heard and easy smile, mentions somewhere called Diamond City. Based on description, it sound just like the baseball stadium, and its all he need before setting off again. He’s about to pass by the caravan when the guard stops him with a shout.

“Y’know, you should thank me. Given you a lead for your great quest.” It’s casual, nowhere near a threat. But it's enough to put Jeremiah on edge, sending all the wrong signals and raising at least two red flags.

“What quest?” He barely keeps the anger from lacing with his voice, intimidation tactics he knows aren’t necessary.

The other guy gives a carefree shrug, dislodging his gun slightly to the left. “You’re that guy, right? The vault dweller?”

Jeremiah sighs, letting himself cool. Of course this random guy had heard of him, he’s been spouting his story to everyone this side of Boston. This guy didn’t feel like a caravan guard, too scrawny even with his shoulder-to-waist ratio, too easy on the gun.

“Yeah, if word spread that fast. And thank you,” he pauses briefly to adjust his shotgun and begin to walk, “For the location.”

The vault dweller waits until a good distance before turning back, but when he does the stranger is still smiling, but this time it feels genuine.

\----------------

The next time they meet, Jeremiah is sure he’s finally found a place he might like. Diamond City feels nothing like old boston, but at least the city is bright and has more than one trader. Valentine is back at work, willing to help him find Shaun and even has a lead. Dogmeat is more than excited to get on the road, and he even had a newspaper cover his story. He can’t get a stupid grin off his face and continues feeding Dogmeat scraps long after he’s finished his noodles.

He briefly considers going up to ask for a land deed when a familiar face pops out from in the crowd. For a second he can’t place it, but the shoulders and gun spark his memory of the caravan from a week or two ago. Not even questioning his decision, he approaches without breaking his more upbeat mood.

“Get lost, can’t you see I’m smokin’ here?” The voice is definitely one he knows, but without the possibly faked casualness.

“Aw, come on, I came to give you another round of thanks,” Jeremiah shrugs, “Maybe even a round of drinks. If you don’t mind the Colonial Taphouse, I’ve heard the robot tends to throw people off.”

The guard eases up a bit, dropping his cigarette and forcing it out. That horribly infectious smile is back, and so is that breezy attitude. “But I thought any genuine visitor of the city had to go to the Dugout Inn? Are you betraying our dear city so soon?”

The teasing tone isn’t lost on him, before he answers briskly, “Either way, but I owe you one. So, drinks on me? I know the owner, Vlad, but he might give me discount if I bring a pretty boy with me~”

As soon as the other freezes up briefly, Jeremiah readies an apology.

“Aw, flirting with me so soon? Seems you want to pay me back with more than drinks.”

“So, drinks, tonight at six? If we need it, Dugout Inn does provide rooms. I’m sure Vlad wouldn’t mind.”

Mysterious as he is pretty, he gets a nod and nice view as the maybe-fake guard wandered away while swinging his hips. Turning himself, heading towards Fallon’s for something halfway clean and maybe not rotting away at his fingertips. By some miracle, he arrives before his date. Okay, maybe showing up an hour early was excessive, but he wanted to catch up with Vlad beforehand. Or at least that’s what he told himself as his fingers trembled slightly from pure nervousness. When the guard finally arrives, he’s gotten it mostly out of his system.

The only thing really different about him than the afternoon is a pompadour wig. Or at least he assumes it’s a wig, every other time the guy’s been bald and wearing sunglasses. Jeremiah can’t tell if it's an improvement, or just confusing.

“Hey,” he greets without much of a thought, “Do you ever take those off?”

“No,” At first, his date sounds serious, but the playful tone returns immediately after, “I sleep, eat, kiss, and shower in this baby. My most prized possession.”

After being in the Wasteland for even a little while, he wonders if the last part might be truth, though he decides that’s a question for a later day, “Yeah, sure. I totally believe you.”

“I swear, I speak nothing but the truth!” A smile manages to break through before it can be stopped, getting a snort from Jeremiah, “Okay, maybe not. But I thought I was here for drinks, not to question how entirely truthful I am.”

“Order what you will, I’ll be picking up the tab either way,” the brunette gestures to Vlad and calls for another whiskey. “And, just so you know, I ordered whiskey out of personal preference. First, tell me your name so I don’t have to mentally call you ‘the cute guard guy.’”

“Deacon.” The easy smile after almost throws Jeremiah off, it’s too casual, too quickly. His automatic assumption is the name is fake, but he rolls with it.

“I’m pretty sure you already know my name, but incase you don’t, it’s Jeremiah,” Vlad comes to drop off his whiskey as the words leave his mouth. Deacon orders Nuka Cola and rum.

Nothing much comes out of the exchange, besides noticing very quickly that nearly everything Deacon says is a lie. It’s entertaining and hearing that voice is a blessing, but a lie is a lie.

It doesn’t matter as much later when the ever-chatty Deacon is the loudest person he’s ever fucked and moan his name like a prayer. Even less when he finally shuts up and puts that mouth to good use. The thing he loved the most is seeing the icey blue eyes half lidded, sunglasses on the night stand.

\-----------

By the morning, Deacon is gone. Not a trace he was there in the first place besides the suspiciously low soap and moved blankets. Jeremiah is disappointed at first before he realizes how long he slept. After a few minutes of getting his stuff together, counting and recounting his bullets, the Sole Survivor is off in a similar fashion, albeit less mysterious. Taking his handy duffle to the next place, the handsome guard and his skills fall from recent memory, but not forgotten. No, not if his only companion was going to be a dog for the next few weeks.

\---------------

Deacon wasn’t really gone. Of course, he was a bit disappointed Jeremiah moved on so quickly, but not enough to distract from his mission. Follow, make sure he gets to the Railroad, with or without his help. So, he continued watching from the shadows, using his stealth skills to their full extent. Joining and quitting caravans faster than you could say “Dammit.”

It wasn’t all bad. Watching Jeremiah work was a pleasure, something he would not be sharing. Okay, maybe he would.

Usually, Jeremiah would go around the perimeter, sniping the guys he could from a decent distance. After he’s done, it’s guns blazing. Or, in these cases, flaming-sword blazing. Chopping off heads and splitting torsos, smiling like blood was his favorite thing. Organs spill and decorate the ground, blood splashing over every surface like it was trying to escape. Bodies litter the streets of Boston once again.

Not to say Deacon enjoyed it too. Maybe a little too much for him to be comfortable with, but that was one of many secrets he hid in a web of lies. This time that he was guardsmen for hire. Next time a shopkeeper or a settler. Those were both fun.


	2. Mayor Hancock At Your Service

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jere uses his puppy eyes on Hancock and Deacon joins the void.

Jeremiah could see Goodneighbor over the horizon as he listened lazily to Travis smoothly introducing Right Behind You Baby when he heard a body thud to the ground. Normally this wouldn’t cause commotion, especially considering where he was, but previously he considered himself alone. Which called for some investigating, which he sent Dogmeat to do. When the dog didn’t return, that’s when Jeremiah went himself, abandoning the warmth of his sleeping bag in hopes of finding whoever started this. 

Drawing a pistol, Jeremiah somehow managed to run into Deacon instead of doing something useful. “Oh, shit-sorry,” he apologized briefly before grinning, “Wait, Deacon? What’s a beautiful thing like you doing out here?” 

“Oh no, all this blood and dirt, save me my hero~” Deacon gave a smile back before falling dramatically into Jeremiah’s arms. 

“Drama queen,” the taller rolls his eyes, but moves to catch Deacon at the last second despite the underlying want to watch him hit the ground. 

“I do try my best,” a teasing tone, trying to play something down. He’s paying too much attention to body language, hard to make eye contact with Deacon wearing those stupid sunglasses. While he takes a second to think, the spy manages to wiggle out and stand fully, taking a step back from the survivor. He barely throws a glance his way. 

“Well, I gotta get to Goodneighbor so I guess…” Jeremiah trails off before a bright idea heads his way, “You should come with me!” 

Another smile, still tense body language. Maybe he should have waited longer before asking, but besides Nick Valentine, he doesn’t have many friends. Not anymore. 

“Yeah, sure, why not,” Deacon hesitates only briefly before giving in with a sigh, but pulls up a mean stern-mom voice, “But I’ll have you know, old man, I will do adult things. Like wander off and scream a whole lot. Okay, maybe those are more childish things.” 

He gives a genuine laugh, one of many he’s had since the cyro chamber woke him up, but somehow this feels more real. Sure, he’s chuckled at Valentine acting older than he was, Preston fiddling with something and needing to calm down. Deacon made it complete, when he starts laughing with in that quiet sort of way, yet still loud in comparison. 

Jeremiah doesn’t ask how long Deacon’s been out here, he isn’t sure he wants to know. If the body temperature was consistent though, he’s guessing a little too long. 

Usually when Deacon thinks of Hancock he tries to avoid all the stabby parts. Of course it’s their luck to get greeted by the mayor exactly when he does do the stabby thing. He hopes to god Jeremiah doesn’t notice the eye contact and subtle nod Hancock gives him on the way out, he assumes it isn’t likely anyway. You could throw a rock at that guy and he’d probably still miss it. 

\--------

Predictably, and as Hancock as Hancock gets, Jere gets invited up to the mayor's office. He can’t help but roll his eyes a bit before following a very eager, overgrown puppy go explore the new city. Oh, sorry, his boss go explore the city. Same thing, really. 

After giving puppy eyes at KL-E-O until she gave him a discount and picking up a thing to do from Daisy, Jere seems to finally be ready to rest for a little bit. He heads straight for Hotel Rexford and pays the cheapest fee in Boston for a shady room. Nothing suspicious here, nope. This is DEFINITELY not a mob hotel. 

Deacon generally keeps his sarcastic comments for when he has the energy to dispense them properly. Until then, he dumps himself onto the closest bed to the window and door, and promptly pretends fall asleep. Really, it takes him hours of listening to the creaking throughout the building, watching the star filled sky before he finally deems it safe enough to even think of sleeping. 

\----------

Deacon is gone by the time Jeremiah wakes up. No supplies are gone, so it's just like that first time. He doesn’t feel like leaving the room until he knows Deacon is alright, but in the back of his mind the thought he’s now alone again is persistent. Not like he has time for much else. 

As soon as his feet hit the ground floor he knows he made a mistake. Canteen, left it in the room most likely. But he searched that damn room four times, just in case anything got lost. Funny, the canteen is worth less than the alcohol inside, but he can’t help but feel edgy without it. Maybe Hancock could hook him up with some of that Jet he always carries around. 

Sighing, heavy footsteps head back up the stairs one more time to look for the missing canteen yet again. He’s greeted with a different present, an unmarked package the size of a small box. Knowing not the dangers of small boxes, Survivor opens it only to drop the note on top of his missing canteen. 

“Sorry I drank it all 

   -XOXO THE D MAN” 

Sole can’t help but laugh out loud, vaguely trying to stifle the sound behind his hand. After a few minutes he calms down, putting his canteen in his back pocket to keep it safe, scowling at the empty feel of it. So, he’d be making a trip up to Mayor Hancock’s anyway, might as well ask about the bar he saw on the way in. 

\--------

Hancock is surprisingly relaxed for someone running one of the most dangerous cities in the ‘Wealth. Jere doesn’t mind, he minds even less when a familiar guard gives him a wink as he walks by. The statehouse is in better shape than he thought, guessing by the nicely polished banisters and not smelly rooms. An intimidating woman in combat armor closes the large doors behind him as he approaches a wooden desk, only decorated with the ghoul’s boots, propped up on the amazingly preserved desk like it was nothing. 

“So, you’re new guy. Hope our introduction hasn’t lessened your opinion of our city.” Hancock’s voice is legendary, rough, but still comforting. 

“It hasn’t yet. So, uh, Mayor Hanc-” A thing of Jet is handed to him before he can finish the question. 

“You seem like you to relax.” 

Sole coughs out a thanks before taking a breath of the foreign drug. Not entirely foreign, that's for sure, but radiation really did make it work better. “I was going to ask about the Third Rail. My canteen’s all out of good whiskey.”

“Sorry, brother, they only serve cheap drinks.” The puppy dog eyes Jere gives him could probably get snow to melt and Hancock has an ‘ah, fuck it moment.’ “Tell Charlie to put your whiskey bottle on my tab. Fahrenheit’ll pick it up later.”

The absolute delight in Sole’s smile make it worth the price, especially if it means he might see the guy again. Between that and the jet, the Mayor has had a pretty good day, all things considered. 

  
“I've actually got a favor to ask, before you leave…”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter might be a bit out of order, but I will get to Hancock's favor in a few chapters.


End file.
